Dot had used a pillow. Simple enough, and quick, and the only problem was that it would leave petechial hemorrhages, most noticeably on the eyes. That hadnt mattered, because the family physician Dot called signed off with barely a look at the deceased. When an elderly person dies of apparent natural causes, you dont usually have to worry about an autopsy.
Nor would there be an autopsy in this house, for a man whod suffered two strokes that they knew about and was on the way out with liver cancer. But the doctor might take a more careful look than the old mans physician in White Plains, and if he saw red pinpoint dots on Clement Roussards eyeballs, hed think Julia had given him a helping hand into the next world. He might not disapprove, he might think it was the final loving act of a dutiful daughter, but why should he get to have an opinion one way or the other?
If theyd been allowed to hospitalize him, and were thus able to monitor him closely, they might have put him on a blood thinner to make further strokes less likely. But with his compromised liver, Coumadin, the blood thinner of choice, could easily make him hemorrhage and bleed out internally. Since that might happen anyway, even without Coumadin, thered be nothing in such a death to raise suspicions.
Coumadin was a prescription drug, and Keller didnt have access to it. But before Coumadin was prescribed to prevent clotting in humans, it was called warfarin and used to poison rats; it thinned their blood, and they bled to death.
You didnt need a prescription for warfarin, but he hadnt even needed to buy it. Hed come across an old packet of the stuff in the garage, with the gardening supplies. He couldnt find a sell-by date on it, but thought it would probably still work. Why should the passage of time render it less toxic? And it was very likely not pharmaceutical grade, so you would be well advised not to use it on a human being for therapeutic purposes, as you might with Coumadin. But this wasnt a case where he had to worry about impurities or side effects, was it?
He added powdered warfarin to the bag holding the IV drip, stood at the mans bedside while it dripped into his vein. He wondered how it would work, and if it would work.
After a few minutes he went to the kitchen. There was coffee in the pot and he heated a cup in the microwave. If she woke up and came in hed just say hed been unable to sleep. But she didnt wake up and he finished his coffee and rinsed his cup in the sink and went back to the old mans side.
The doctor barely examined the patient beyond feeling for a pulse. Keller didnt think hed have noticed petechial hemorrhages, or even a gunshot wound in the temple. He signed the death certificate, and Julia called the funeral director her family used, and fifteen or twenty people, family or friends, attended the service. Donny Wallings and his wife were there, and he met Patsy and Edgar Morrill, and both couples returned to the house after the service. The body was cremated, which Keller thought was a good idea, all things considered, so there was no cemetery visit, no second service at graveside.
The two couples didnt stay long, and when they were alone Julia said, Well, now I can go back to Wichita. God, the look on your face!
Well, for a moment there
When I first moved back I had to keep telling myself Id
only be staying as long as he needed me. In other words, until he died. But I think I knew right away I was never going to leave again. Its home, you know?
Its hard to imagine you anyplace but New Orleans. Anyplace but this house, really.
There was nothing wrong with Wichita, she said, and I had a life there. My yoga class, my book group. It was a place to live, but it isnt a place to return to.
He knew what she meant.
I could go someplace else, and in a couple of months I could re-create my life in Wichita. Maybe it would be Pilates instead of yoga, maybe Id take up bridge instead of trying to puzzle out what Barbara Taylor Bradford really meant. But it would be the same life, and my new friends would be the same as my Wichita friends, and just as replaceable when I moved somewhere else a few years down the line.
And now?
Now Ill have to go through his things, and figure out what to give away and where it should go. Will you help me with that?
Of course.
And well have to clean out that room. All the smells, the cigarette smoke and the sickness. I dont know what Im going to do with his ashes.
Dont people bury them?
I guess, but doesnt that sort of defeat the whole purpose? Like you wind up with a grave after all? I know what Id want.
What?
The same treatment your car got, but not the river. Just scatter my ashes in the Gulf. Will you take care of that, if you should ever have the chance?
Odds are youll be the one who has to figure out what to do with me. And that sounds as good as anything, by the way. The Gulf of Mexicos as good a place as any.
Not Long Island Sound? You wouldnt want to go home?
No, I like it here.